How to be brave
by QwertyViolinist
Summary: Sherlock gives John the privilege to look at his Childhood and understand the man more than ever before.
1. Chapter 1

If you were to ask Sherlock Holmes about his childhood, he would only change the subject as quickly as you had enquired. I had only asked once- just once. He looked at me, his eyes a mixture of sorrow and regret. I knew straight away that it was another novella that I, John Watson, would never read from Sherlock's past.

I'd always imagined brotherly fights and late night arguments between father and son...I could never have been so wrong. You look at the man's relationship with his brother; it's spiteful. I seldom believe that there is much love between them. Specially with the way Sherlock always is with his feelings- love, specially of the family variety, seemed like a stepping stone Sherlock just couldn't reach. Maybe I had always under-estimated the man?

It was a day after I had enquired about his childhood that Sherlock presented a red leather bound book to me. I, at first, was a little stunned. Was it a gift? No. After studying the book for a few seconds, I had noticed the slight wear of the cover and the pages; it had been used before.

"What can you deduce from that, John?" He asked, his eyes gazing into mine before dropping to the book he had placed in my hands.

"It's been used- stored away for a few years though. There is wear on the leather where it had been stored with other objects... my bet is with other books." I paused, frowning at Sherlock. "What is it?"

"It's a book."

I huff at his bluntness. "I can see that- what kind of book?"

"Why should I waste my breath telling you when you have the hands to open it and the eyes to read?"

I smile and look down, my fingers tapping and almost caressing the leather as I make the decision to open the book. The first page makes it evident to what it is; a diary. Sherlock's diary.

I shuffle in my seat, looking up from the page as my flat mate stares back in the opposite seat, insisting that I read on.

I'd never felt so uncomfortable, yet so privileged to be able to dive into another part of Sherlock's history.


	2. January

**AN: Thank you so much for the reviews so far guys! It's really encouraged me to write more! I'm currently struggling through exams at school, and writing the next chapters of this story has been a nice get away. The next chapter should be up near the end of March if all goes well. Thank you once again and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

"You were home schooled until you were fifteen?"

"Problem?"

"No, not at all. It's just… a bit of a shock."

Sherlock Holmes sighed, his hand placed on his forehead, his elbow leaning onto the arm of the chair; a position that gave off the impression that I was becoming much of a headache to the great detective.

I leaned back into the chair, watching the man still, almost as if it were some sort of competition; who could stare the longest?

"Are you going to read it?" Sherlock finally asked, his voice husky with a tint of annoyance.

"Yes." The words fell out of my lips, sharp and quick. Sherlock's head twitched slightly to the right.

"I just wanted to confirm the information," I continued, my left eye brow raising slightly in response to Sherlock's current attitude. "You don't have to be a dick about it."

"How was I being a dick?" Sherlock asked, obviously confused. I swear there were so many times that arose in our time together that I could very gladly shoot that man for his ignorance. I had the mental strength to stop myself though.

"Never mind."

_'I started school for the first time today. It was hard to communicate with others, but the teachers helped. Mum told me the night before that it felt like she was going to ship me away to another country- like she had sent me to war. (I don't think she's ever been to school based on this statement). Mycroft had to comfort her when I left this morning. (He likes doing that, says 'it keeps him top on her lists'). I enjoy my classes and my teachers are very friendly. People stared at me today though, I felt like a goldfish in a bowl._

_We're reading Of Mice and Men in English class. I like Lennie Small, he's described as a bear in the beginning and those creatures are magnificent! ( I wish to be described as a bear some day, maybe I might gain a few friends if I did. Like, a George. I'd like to gain myself a George. I doubt Mycroft would approve of that though.).'_

I stopped reading, a smile plastered on my face as I looked up at Sherlock.

"Bear?" He asked in monotone.

I nodded in agreement, " 'I doubt Mycroft would approve of that though.' Playing Mother- I can see that very clearly now." I mused, chuckling under my breath.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, pulling his 'are you going to continue with what you are doing? Or shall you mock me for the coming hours?' face. I laughed and began to read the next few entries, but this time, I read them aloud. Mostly as an experiment of my own; to watch Sherlock's expression as I read. I was starting to wonder how long it had been since Sherlock last laid eyes upon his childhood. He'd deleted most primary school knowledge as fair as I could tell- had he deleted his childhood too? Or was that all stored away in his Mind Palace? To me, I decided upon the former. Sherlock did not seem the type to be sentimental of his childhood, even if the keeping of a diary from his teenage years said otherwise.

"I had maths first lesson today. Mister Stelle, pronounced Stell-aye, placed me next to a boy named Matthew Johnstone. He is a very messy boy and he kept sniffling and he has very heavy breathing. It is highly distracting. I don't like him too much- Mycroft told me not to be too judgemental of Matthew's character just because I have picked out a few habits of his I don't like. I might speak to him tomorrow."

Typical of Sherlock to write something like that. I shook my head, the smile still playing on my lips as I continued to read.

"Lydia Graymound called me a 'Faggot' today. (Rumours have been going around at school that she's a slut). I shan't listen to her comments, I am not a traditional English dish. Then again, I am British. Maybe that's what she meant? I don't understand what half of the words people shout at me mean."

I turned the page.

"I felt like the odd one out today in P.E. I was picked last for netball teams. I am rather tall and slim for my age; the perfect structure for a netball player. The boys laughed at me for playing a girl's sport. I don't quite understand why. Basketball is practically the same as netball. Had maths again today too, Matthew wasn't in so I couldn't try and communicate with him. High hopes for next lesson."

"Sounds like you were really set on talking to this Matthew kid." I stated, pointing at the book whilst watching Sherlock. The man sunk in his chair, raising his brows a little before letting them drop to their normal height. I sensed the silent 'John, just shut up and read' body language, causing me to roll my eyes and read from the book once more.

"No Maths today, double English though. We managed to finish Of Mice and Men. Good ending. It made me want a George of my own even more. Someone loyal, kind too. It would be great."

I smiled, a hum dancing up through my throat. Sherlock raised a quizzical brow at me, "What?"

"You seem pretty set on getting your own George too." I muttered before things started to click in my mind. I placed my left hand on the page, marking it as I closed the book.

"I'm finding it hard to believe that you wrote all of this, Sherlock." I took in a sharp breath, huffing it back out to show a tad of frustration. Sherlock's brows knitted close together,

"How?"

I laughed, looking to the fireplace then back to Sherlock, my lips parted and the words caught in my throat, letting more laughter slip through before speaking, "Have you read this?" I asked with disbelief, "For God's sake Sherlock, this isn't you!"

I _knew_ Sherlock Holmes- and this was not him. This was a normal child! I blinked as my mind went back to it's logical thinking, Sherlock slipping a smirk onto his features. I think Sherlock preferred it when I thought about things, I do have the tendency to speak without thinking at times; and this was one of those times.

"People change, they become bitter." Sherlock stated, watching me still. His words only just squeezed into my ear drums, causing my own thoughts to seize.

"What?" Slipped through my lips, I must have had a dumbfounded expression on my face judging by Sherlock's own.

"I changed. Everyone goes through such a stage in their childhood, John. Mine happened a little later- for the best."

'For the best'. That hit me like a smack around the face. For the best! How could changing from such a child as I read from the diary to what he was now be for the best? I shook my head, "No, Sherlo-"

"Read." Sherlock demanded and, rather swiftly, my hand flipped the book back open and I turned the page.

Blank.

I frowned, "These pages are blank…" Ten points for stating the absolute obvious, but I couldn't stop myself.

I turned the page again.

Blank.

"Sherlock…" I began, wetting my lips.

"January finishes there."

"Why?"

"Because it does- move to February. It's approximately twenty pages from there." Sherlock explained, still slumped back in his chair. I did exactly as he had said, flipping the pages a little vigorously until I reached his messy black inked writing once again.

"Ah, February."


End file.
